Writing

I am 15, a rising sophomore struggling mentally. Can’t motivate myself to do much, still dreading the first day of school. I often find the phrase “I can’t” pouring out of my mouth as I feel out of control, laying in my mom’s arms.

I think she should’ve known this would happen

When that straight-A girl became the one 

who’d sneak out past midnight,

And the cries turned to hindsight.
 

somewhere a lantern burns in the woods.

somewhere a cold blind man suffers.

they will never meet.

Fear is such a funny thing, which looks at you with no humor in its gaze
  and never blinks wide eyes, and is thin and crippled and seething, and has tears glinting off its cheeks, and is
    small and alone

these shoes feel like wings. 

i am 

f    l    y    i    n    g 

across the newly grooved pavement, balancing 

every time you look at me

with your soft eyes, 

tan skin, 

and a nose you used to hate, 

I mourn the loss of the love I once held for you.